


Commander

by Arianne



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Bondage, Consensual, M/M, Power Imbalance, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Valve oral
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-19
Updated: 2014-12-19
Packaged: 2018-03-02 04:52:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2800250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arianne/pseuds/Arianne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Every Autobot -- even a Wrecker -- must learn to exercise restraint."</p><p>Prowl tests Drift by having him chain his new commander to his desk. As commissioned by Decepticonsensual on tumblr.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Commander

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Decepticonsensual](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Decepticonsensual/gifts).



> This was kindly written for Decepticonsensual in September for their help with my cat's surgery fund. Catilla is doing great, and DC, I really appreciate the help and your patience while I worked on this fic. They were a fun pair to work with!

Drift knocked on the office door with apprehension. Prowl the Autobot commander had a reputation among the Decepticons that none of the Wreckers' jokes about their paper-pusher in chief had dispelled from his mind.

With a quick security scan that Drift must've passed, the door slid open. Prowl sat at his desk as expected, but on that desk where Drift expected to see datapads and tactical displays (Turmoil's was always covered in them), he found a pile of chains and cuffs.

Drift had learned to hide his reactions, if not in the Dead End then in Crystal City. He didn't know if he could hide them from Prowl, but he could try. He stopped a respectful distance from the desk and said, "Commander."

"Drift," Prowl said, and the door slid shut behind him. Drift's defense systems shifted into higher alert even as he stood silent.

"Alias 'Deadlock'," Prowl continued. "Kup recommends you for service in the Wreckers."

"Yes, sir." Kup had talked like it was a done deal, after all the unofficial time he'd put in with the Wreckers already.

"I approved the post upon receiving his recommendation some time ago," Prowl affirmed. "Authorize with the clerk as you leave. You are, now or at any time, free to go."

"Sir?" Drift asked, standing in place, optics moving between Prowl and the collection on his desk. After all he'd heard from the Wreckers, he didn't think Prowl was like this, but the implication...

Prowl frowned even more deeply, and paused as if reading from a visual overlay. Finally, he said, "Every Autobot -- even a Wrecker -- must learn to exercise restraint."

Drift's frame was beginning to give in to small twitches with impatience and anticipation. "You want to tie me up?" He raised a hand to indicate the desk. No doubt Prowl knew of his past, and he couldn't ignore the implications, but Drift could endure it if he had to, despite Prowl's permission to leave. He would.

"Of course not." Prowl's voice fell, like Drift was stupid for even thinking it. "Even a Decepticon can restrain himself when he's chained up. An Autobot must show restraint even to those at his mercy."

Drift opened his vents, letting cool air circulate through his frame, from this tips of his helm to the end of each leg. He'd known when the Decepticons, and New Crystal City, and the Wreckers had each decided to accept him. Those were simple. He didn't know what it'd take for Prowl. "I await your orders, Commander."

"It should be obvious, Drift. You will bind me."

Prowl sounded serious, but everything in Drift's being screamed that this was a trap, all sensors at high alert. They were under surveillance, he was sure -- there was even a visible camera up in the left corner -- and Drift could imagine all too well a platoon of Autobot troops coming in to arrest him for attacking a superior officer, and then it would be Prowl's word against his, if they didn't just shoot him on sight.

But then, it'd be Prowl's word against his anyway, and from both the Decepticons and the Wreckers, Drift had never heard that he wasn't a mech of his word. He didn't doubt Prowl's permission to leave. Still. "You command me to chain you. With the equipment on your desk." He really did want confirmation, but he hoped it sounded less incredulous to Prowl than it did in his head. Even the Decepticons hadn't asked this of him. His spark casing, yes, but not this. They'd made it a point not to.

"Yes," Prowl said, and even put on a half-smile. "I'm sure you know what to do with these items. They were all taken from Decepticons."

Drift didn't acknowledge the bait, but he felt the anger rise, almost enough to make the thought of having Prowl at his mercy more tolerable than intimidating. "You want me to bind you in your chair?"

Prowl sighed. "Demonstrate for me how you would handle a prisoner."

Drift hesitated, running the question back and forth through his processor before speaking. "Is this... standard for Autobot recruits?"

"It's not because of you, if that's what you mean," Prowl said with impatience, looking at him from his seat behind the desk with the same level gaze he'd held the entire time. It sounded like an insult, but Drift suspected it was meant as a reassurance. It was Drift's past as a Decepticon that mattered, not his past in the Dead End.. and with Prowl more than most, he was believing it.

Drift's processor heated, running scenarios, guessing and second-guessing and he really, really wished Perceptor were there -- or maybe not Perceptor, but he'd 'faced around the unit like the rest of them often enough by now to give him an idea. "I could demonstrate on --"

"On me. As I ordered," Prowl interrupted. He raised an optic ridge when the moments passed, and Drift still held back, standing at his respectable distance. "I am in the role of your prisoner. Demonstrate how you would handle me... Autobot."

"Yes, Commander," Drift said mostly automatically, in the face of a direct order, and then with deliberate steps finally advanced on the desk. He grabbed a basic pair of cuffs and walked around behind Prowl. "Stand, sir. Hands at your back."

Prowl snorted. "And if I don't comply?"

"I will be required to use force," he played along. As keyed up as Drift was, he didn't want to try that, not on his commander. Not on Prowl.

"Using your words. How very Autobot." It still sounded like an insult, but Prowl stood and pulled his hands behind him, raising his vehicle mode doors slightly to move them out of the way.

Drift grabbed his hands and secured the cuffs, locking them firmly together. There were no stasis fields available on these more basic models, but they seemed sturdy enough. Drift let go and stepped back, considering.

"You'll need more than that to hold me," Prowl instructed, and without fail, Drift would've sworn there was a heat in his voice as he tested the cuffs, arms brushing against those door panels. There'd been stories about those panels, in the Wreckers. They had said Springer once licked a line up and down the edge of each one and Prowl overloaded on the spot -- but that was beside the point, he thought, cutting off that thread.

"Yes, sir," Drift said, because cuffs or not, Prowl was still his commander now. He pulled a length of simple chain from the desk and looped it around Prowl's neck, wrapping the panels -- and no, he wasn't imagining the arousal in Prowl's field at all as those were bound. He finished by hooking it tightly to the cuffs on his hands, holding them up at waist level by the tension in Prowl's neck.

The position was compromising, but it didn't force Prowl to arch his back as far as he kept it, or require quite that much effort from Prowl's secondary vents. His commander was enjoying this. Drift wasn't usually on this side of the cuffs, but he did know what to do. And the danger and excitement in Prowl's field was starting to get to him, just a bit, and he shifted, the tension in his frame looking for somewhere to go.

When Prowl's foot tapped deliberately on the floor, Drift took the initiative, clearing the desk with a sweep of his arm, chains clattering onto the floor. With a hand on Prowl's neck he bent him over it, pinning him with his own body. "Commander?" He raised his voice, looking for confirmation, even if Prowl's body was running hot under him, pressing back in obviously fake struggles.

"Restrain me, Autobot," Prowl said, and Primus help him, the commanding voice went straight to Drift's array.

"Yes -- sir," Drift managed. Prowl's aft was pressing up meaningfully against Drift's spike cover, and if Drift were a completely different mech -- a mech he had tried to be -- he would've had Prowl open underneath him already.

But he wasn't that mech, and he dropped to his knees instead, grabbing a pair of manacles from the scattered restraints on the floor. Prowl hardly resisted when he pulled each leg spread, chaining them as best he could to the desk legs. It felt sturdy enough, at least because Prowl wasn't resisting the pose at all.

"Now that the prisoner is restrained," Prowl said, calm and clear despite his face being pressed against his desk in a position that had to be at least uncomfortable, "his captor must attend to his needs."

Somewhere inside, Drift was laughing at Prowl's line. But Prowl was dangerous, too, and hot, and literally asking for it, and his panels were sliding open right in front of Drift's face.

"Yes, sir," Drift said, and pushed himself up on his knees to press his mouth to the opening of Prowl's valve. He gently pressed his glossa in, lapping up the lubricants there.

Prowl struggled for real, this time, trying to get closer, and if Drift were more patient he might tie his shoulders down, too, but he didn't have the patience for that, or even for keeping his own panels closed. They snapped open with more eagerness than he wanted to show, not that Prowl would notice anything but his own needs. Drift would bet anything that was the point.

He hummed into the valve, obediently silent and attending his commander. He alternately worked his glossa just inside the tight valve, tasting all he could, and searching with his lips for sensor node clusters. Prowl rattled his chains when he found each one, scattered around his array surrounding his valve.

Drift's hand brushed past his spike and went to his own valve as he worked on Prowl's. It wouldn't take much to overload him, Drift could already tell that, and he didn't expect so much as a helping hand from Prowl after. His hand found his own clusters, and he rocked his hips against them, wishing he had anything to put in there alongside his own fingers. But those were good too, and with three pushing in easily and spreading him apart, he could imagine someone else inside -- a commander, if not Prowl.

Prowl's field flared, and he pushed his hips back into Drift's face as much as he could with his limited mobility. Drift moaned, half habit but fully genuine, making Prowl lurch forward, rubbing his spike on the hard surface of the desk as if he needed the roughness. Drift's mouth followed him, soft but determined, and within seconds Prowl's overload hit, his valve spasming around Drift's glossa pushed as deep as he could, dripping lubricant faster than Drift could swallow it.

Another second and Drift pulled away, because Prowl was still recovering and he had never said Drift couldn't overload anyway, and on his knees in front of his bound commander he clutched at his own fingers, riding his hand into a fast overload -- just enough to take the edge off, leaving Drift panting and thinking about the Wreckers meeting him and taking him back to private quarters to burn off the charge.

"Are your needs met, prisoner? Sir?" Drift asked for now, getting to his feet, standing steadier than he felt. His face was a mess with fluids, and his thighs even messier, but he didn't bother to clean up, not yet. Even with standing permission and the promise of getting faced through his berth by his newly official team, he wanted to wait for dimissal, after coming this far.

"Yes," was all Drift got, but as he stood at the back of none other than the Autobot second-in-command, trusting, willingly exposed and immobilized at his hand, he had a feeling he'd earned much more.


End file.
